Circus
by contentiously
Summary: The world's oddities and misfortunes come out in the circus. There's Ichigo - an introverted, partially blind clown. And Grimmjow, a laidback juggler with nothing better to do. In the middle of the fantastic performances, a strange relationship will form.
1. Prologue

AN:/ Hello, this is my first fanfiction. Please enjoy, and review as well since I need criticism. Thank you for reading.

Circus

Prologue

The ringleader was an old and somewhat simple minded man with a crown of a few stray white hairs. No one quite knew him well, he was simply an enigma in the middle of the enchanting figures dashing and performing on the somewhat lightened stage; moderately irrelevant to the fascinating humans – a questionable term for some – filling up the white-and-red striped tent in the middle of a regular suburban area. Performances were held once a week, with a variety of stunts and talents to show off to a cheering and sometimes jeering crowd. The rich and poor alike filled up the tent to the brim, but yet the ringleader refused to expand the tent for reasons unknown. But when the tent opened its mouth, welcoming the visitor into the depths, when the ringleader boomed out a quick introduction, the truly interesting group of performers was shown.

The Siamese twins were always clothed in a strange patchwork barely considered clothes, one side light while the other dark. Intricate, winding patterns danced upon them, while the twins themselves always seemed to stand out. Not because of their evident disability, but because their eyes held a shade of pain that could not be described in any grays, blacks, or purples, their mouths, although normally closed, always speaking about the other side. Captured by the hopes of having a better life than being gawked at by the general public and their misfortunate past, they created a new sort of twisted religion, one complete with messy and strange rituals. They were connected in not just body but nature as well; they were always in agreement that many considered them to be one being. Sometimes they even spoke at the same time, their voices perfectly together, melted together in an enticing yet dangerous manner. They were called Karin and Yuzu.

The acrobat loved thrills, pouncing through red, reaching tongues of fire and walking unsteadily towards the end of the rope while being held up high enough that she tasted the heavens. She was always bubbly, her short and neatly combed black hair always drifting when she performed one of her many tricks; perhaps a cartwheel, perhaps a flip. They called her Rukia, yet many believed it to be a fake name. Many believed that she was hiding something under her happy façade. But she kept on performing, her normally glittering and loud costume shining in the sparse lights. Yet she always winced whenever she saw the color pink; a rare shine in the normally dark tent. The ringleader had once given her a light pink dress to perform in, and she had erupted. It seemed as if she would have rather been killed than wear the poisonously light color. But the next day, all her anger disappeared and she apologized to the ringleader for her actions.

The snake charmer had small slits for eyes, whose color had never been seen, a chalky pale complexion, and a tight countenance, the small pressed line of a mouth always curled up into a malicious-looking grin, even while conversing. He was always calculating, speaking with a slight accent which only made his presence more intimidating. His words were laced with a comedic sense, biting and taunting. No one knew how he had stumbled upon the circus; he was always there from the start with his snakes, which were always around him, circling around him, twisting around his thin arms and legs. Sometimes, they would hiss at one that dared come to their master. And Ichimaru, the snake charmer, would always laugh that cold laugh when that happened.

The turtle trainer was a unique part of the circus. Normally it was elephants, but the talented trainer had refused. She had only wanted animals that would live longer than her; she didn't want to be lonely and abandoned like before, she had briefly mentioned before continuing with her lengthy daily monologue of her day. While some were afraid of insects and darkness, she was afraid of disappearing into nothing. Her mouth was almost never closed, except for when she was performing, the words coming out sometimes making no sense but she always continued. She wanted people to remember her life, as little as it was. Her warm brown eyes never closed for more than an hour during even the darkest moment of day; sleeping was taboo to her, since many closed their eyes and unwittingly walked into the icy embrace of smirking Death. They called her Orihime, a princess of dancing turtles and living.

The juggler was called Grimmjow. He had bright, light blue hair with strange blue tattoos at the ends of his piercing eyes. Little else is known. He always said he just happened to pass on the circus with nothing else to do, and signed up with his only talent: juggling. He could juggle anything. He didn't enjoy it, though. Whenever he performed, he always seemed to be a little out of it, his hand catching and throwing and catching and throwing but his expression not showing the tiniest bit of strain or concern. He was perhaps the most normal of all the performers, save for the almost unnoticeable clown embellished in an orthodox motley of red and white.

The clown was partially blind in his right eye. His actions were always robotic, as if his heart were protected by some sort of barrier. His bright orange hair, probably natural, was covered by the atrocious red, curly wig on performance nights. A layer of white powder covered his tanned skin, elaborate, varying shapes of red outlined in bold black interrupting the plain of white. His red nose was fake, fitting perfectly like a puzzle piece to his shapely nose. He had no significant talents, so the ringleader assigned him to the boring job of clown. While handing out the brilliant balloons, he always forced on a smile. Smile. Smile, he always reminded himself while he was on the stage. Others found a magic in the circus, but he only saw it as a job. His lean body was covered by the rectangular costume, a fragile paper folded again and again to wrap around his neck to resemble an accordion. It was scratchy, but it never really bothered Ichigo. His name was Ichigo. Strange that such a normally quiet boy would have such a proud name, isn't it?

Curious? Why, welcome to the circus.


	2. Chapter 1

AN:/ As you might have noticed, I have no idea how to use this website. I have found a few grammatical mistakes in the prologue, so I'm trying my best to edit it and such. Please review, I'll take flames because my writing isn't fantastic.

Chapter 1

Rush. Colors. They were all mixed together, like a soup delicious only to a certain few. The ringleader was rounding up the main performers, pushing them into their costumes and reminding them to smile, to act happy, to look at the audience. Ichigo remained in the corner, his face stoic and only his constant foot-tapping the sign of him being alive. Ratata. Ratata. The sounds of the surprisingly cheap boots on the wooden and dusty, at least in that corner, floor remained unnoticed by the rest as the rush of colors passed by. He was already in his uniform, the itchy and inexpensive neck covering irritating him only a bit. The colors were still running by. He always saw things in colors; his right eye blurred by a transparent and heavily blurred barrier. His left was fully functional, but sometimes he preferred to see everything with his right eye. It made everything so much easier, so much simpler. Ichigo liked simple things.

Suddenly, a flash interrupted the constant stream of monotonous and common colors. A bright, electric blue, belonging to the sky of an unknown paradise. The clown's foot stopped its irritating tapping, leaning forward to get just a little closer to that beautiful color. Was that a costume? A wig? But as quickly as it appeared, it estranged from his sight. Sighing, Ichigo brought himself up from the small, unused oasis and picked up the small amount of restrained balloons tied to a nearby hook. Smile, he reminded himself. Smile.

It was performance night.

"Welcome to the delightful show of the circus! And now, the first performer, a young and lithe acrobat by the name Rukia!" The ringleader's voice boomed across the small tent, the noise walking into everyone's niches of ears. Some of the audience had purchased popcorn and other overpriced snacks, munching happily in anticipation of the first event. The light dimmed, and Rukia pranced onto the stage, a smile plastered on her face.

Her performances were always fantastic. The almost inhumane body could do just about anything. Leaping from bar to bar, she finally landed on her feet after a short performance. Everything about her was so graceful and light; her body flew like a bird's. Bowing, with a smile still on her face, she exited the stage and claps vibrated the tent, with a few stomps of appreciation to punctuate.

As the ringleader announced the next performance, Ichigo, his hands still clasping the collection of textured string, smiled at Rukia. She was still in the midst of the heat of her performance; the excitement and thrills filling her body and bringing her to that absolutely wonderful high. Briefly, Ichigo wondered if he would ever feel that. Certainly not with his current job as a clown, but perhaps one day he could reach those heights. But soon Rukia fell into the current time, her hand grabbing a clean white towel and wiping off the sheen of sweat adorning her forehead. Walking off from the waiting room, her gait still resembled that cheerful one she used onstage as the next performer, Orihime, walked on.

From his left eye, Ichigo noted the apparent hesitation and nervousness of Orihime. Immediately meeting her brown eyes, he sighed to himself.

"Oh, Ichigo! Nice to see you! I ate lunch today, it was some type of meat in some type of bread and it was really nice and good but I think that it was a bit regular, I mean the chefs should have made it a little different since it was supposed to be a luxury shop, they didn't even present it nicely, it was just there like the ones parents pack their children. Anyway, it's my turn soon and my turtles are really nervous and I am too, who is to blame, since everything is so hectic around here, I can already hear the audience chanting and I wonder if I will do good and maybe the ringleader will let me get another turtle because…"

The rest faded into nonsensical nonsense. Ichigo didn't bother to try listening to it. Instead, he focused on her uniform. It was a light grey, the thin top barely covering her ample chest. The ringleader must have known her appeal, and decided to take advantage of it. The chittering coming from Orihime finally died down as she entered the stage. And then, precious silence.

Orihime was always silent during her performances. Her eyes were thoughtful, musing, pensive. As the crowd cheered, most noticeably the men, the turtles streamed onto the stage. They were all an olive green, obviously very well taken care of. The light reflected off their coarse-looking shells, the unique patterns shown off. With a slight tap of her heel on the floor, the turtles were ushered to face the audience, perfectly apart and perfectly still. And then, the first one on the left moved sideways two steps, the rest following suit. The performance rapidly became more and more complex, with turtles climbing onto each other. Although they were quite as quick as Rukia, they had their own charm. The performance ended in just another few minutes, the claps once again filling up the tent. Orihime and her turtles, after bowing, exited the performance stage. The turtles went into their comfortable cage and Orihime sat down next to Ichigo, her mouth starting to open.

Ichigo was saved, however, by the ringleader who told him to entertain the guests for a short intermission. After popping on his fake red nose and his wig, he sighed and entered.

Walking on the stage, he was blinded by the inspecting lights, probing into every piece of him. The brightness was really something one couldn't get used to. Wincing both eyes shut just a bit, he smiled and started to hand off the balloons to the jumping and energetic children. A few in the top stands laughed at his loud appearance. Ichigo kept silent throughout the whole break. For him, this was just a job. Just a job.

And then it all ended. Ichigo turned his back to the lights and the din, shaking his head a little and letting his eyes adjust to the most comfortable settings. After the announcement, the next performer walked onto the stage.

Blue. It was that blue. That indescribably wonderful blue. Ichigo turned back to the disliked lights, searching for that color. A broad back, covered by a thick white jacket. A few blue hairs graced the top of the jacket. The light, cotton candy blue reminded Ichigo of his carefree youth. The days when he roamed the land for an adventure, the days when he didn't need to worry about the massive complexities of life and just enjoyed living. The silhouette disappeared onto the stage, but Ichigo kept on looking. That color was beautiful.

And apparently, it belonged to the juggler, a recent addition to the set of performers. He had heard about him from the snippets of conversations he was involved in. Ichigo wondered why he hadn't seen that color before. Had the juggler recently dyed it? Although the clown's mind had wanted to sit back on that comforting bench, his body betrayed him. His head peeked out onto the stage, his eyes focused on the performer. Four rings, their colors blue, red, green, and yellow, orbited around an invisible planet, propelled by powerful, tan hands. From Ichigo's angle, the rings blurred together and formed a slightly distorted oval. It truly was wonderful; perhaps on level with Rukia's performances. There was some sort of magic involved; a human couldn't manipulate such awkward objects simply with their hands.

But the juggler did. Bending his head over just a little more, Ichigo stared at the man's face. It was tanned, a pleasant color. The eyes were piercing and sharp, accented by a small dip of blue at the corners. He couldn't quite see the color from the angle, but Ichigo assumed that they were the same stunning blue color as the man's hair.

And the hair. He couldn't even describe it.

Entranced by the show, Ichigo hadn't noticed that quite a few minute passed. As expected, the performance drew to a close.

For some strange, strange reason, Ichigo walked to the man. They approached each other, their hands tingling at the touch. The ringleader's voice and the boisterous clapping were the only sounds. They didn't even matter.

The juggler whipped his head around.

Ichigo was right, his eyes were blue.


	3. Chapter 2

AN:/ I haven't updated in a while. Apologies. And the writing in this chapter is slightly off - I'm a bit sick and my muse has left me. I might get to writing a one-shot with the modern structure (you know, without much of a plot), or something. Pleas review~ they're what convinced me to update.

So blue and enticing and gorgeous and pulling were those eyes that Ichigo became lost in them for a split second, his entire soul sucked into the brilliant, oval offerings. But then the magic broke.

"The fuck are you staring at?" A rough voice, a white-and-black contrast to those eyes, which had something in them that Ichigo couldn't place (but he decidedly liked it).

A pregnant silence hung in the air, suspended like the balloons that rested in Ichigo's hands just ten minutes ago.

"I'm Ichigo. I'm the clown. You're the juggler."

"No shit."

And then, without anything else, the juggler flipped his body back to the direction to exit the room. Ichigo made no notion to stop him. But inside him, he had a feeling that they would get closer somehow. Maybe it was simply a tiny shard of hope and raw desire to get closer to that comforting color, but Ichigo swept that away before sitting down back on the bench in the isolated corner. A few more people had performed, but he paid no notice to them as he began the constant foot-tapping activity, his mind escaping to broken thoughts of life. And how he would be able to visit his mother soon. There wasn't a specific date, but his stomach was already churning. He didn't want to visit her. Otherwise, he'd lose just a bit of his shell with every second that passed with her on his side.

The night came quickly. After all, there wasn't much to do after performance day if you were a clown. Certainly, the rest of the more talented performers would be practicing their routines again and again but there was minimal practice involved with handing out balloons. He had returned to his dormitory, but it was really shared between all the performers, a shabby small room of a building that covered a minute area behind the tent. The walls were a drab yellow, old and worn. The building had previously been a nursery, and Ichigo had found it slightly humorous. The bright blue of day had morphed into the veil of black. As he settled down, he could already hear the activities beginning.

The shaking of the bottle, filled with small pills, jingled through the room. And there was heavy panting coming from that general direction as well, the sound of soft hands rubbing against the ridged cap of the bottle. And finally, it was opened, and in the dark, Ichigo discerned a slight movement. It was Orihime. It seemed like she didn't want to sleep. No surprise; sleep was as rare for her as gold for a peasant. And then the sound of Rukia walking out of the building punctuated the relieved sigh of the turtle trainer. Clack. Clack. The sound on the floor gradually grew dimmer and dimmer until the door was closed quietly by nimble hands. There was no use hiding it; everyone knew the escapades of Rukia during the night. Men all around knew her as a nice one-night stand. She appreciated the nighttime life, the loud booming bass of the bright, luminescent night clubs she regulated at. Every single night, the clacking of the heels upon the floor served to be the noise to welcome the dark.

Orihime was silent during the night. In her quest to remain awake through the long hours, she had resorted to various drugs and pills and injections. The growing cache was stored underneath her bed, the rather ironic pink curtain covering outsiders from the dangerous pleasures. Really, one of the most mysterious enigmas in the whole circus was how Orihime managed to gain possession of the drugs. The pay was meager – barely enough for anyone to consider working there. Yet no one dared to ask how. The heavy breathing began, the roaming around. The twins were already busy, the small flame illuminating the room and giving just a small glance at the room. Gin was smiling, his pale head resting on a pale arm. His eyes were little more than slits, with just a small touch of red visible to the naked eye. The snakes were flanking him, with similar expressions. At first, there had been concerns but after nights of not being attacked, the performers' fear had dissolved.

"Oy, Karin an' Yuzu. Mind givin' me some of that fire?" he said, his mouth moving just slightly, and a hand extending into a hidden pocket and taking out a pack of cigarettes. Without waiting for an answer of approval, he lifted his body up from the relaxed position it was in, and walked to the twins, dipping the white stick into the flowering fire. The bud lit on fire, an orange covering the black and the snake charmer reached it to touch his mouth. Breathing in, he released the grey cloud of smoke, the smell immediately filling up the room. Ichigo winced in disgust, the smell was terrible and it reminded him of his father. But he didn't dare tell the man to stop. It was an unspoken routine.

"White-face, go outside and do that shit. The smell is fucking terrible."

The brash voice, so familiar to Ichigo, spoke up loudly. But it was more irritated than before, with a slight touch of impudence dancing on the tone.

"Ooh. Yer got guts, I'll give you that. I'll stop, Blueberry," an equally stunning reply as the slight flame was blown out, the ending smoke, leaving the flame in the hands of Yuzu and Karin alone. The twins were silent, not paying attention to the small conversation taking place. Their eyes were closed, their mouths moving in silence. It was apparent that they were speaking the same words. It would be considered a miracle to be so closely bonded, but they shared the same brain, the same body, the same mindset. The black hair of the darker twin mixed in with the blond, their heads leaning on each other to create a perfect balance. Orihime was still awake, but her head was nodded curiously to the right, her eyes focused on the fire. The wax, the stage for the performing light, was melting on the twins' hands. The two hands did not move at all. Instead, to an outsider, it would seem as if they were appreciating the flame, the heat, and pain. The red spread on the pale hands, like a disease, walking over and over and leaving the tracks of melted red liquid.

Gin's face was still illuminated. He was again smiling, with a slight change of position. The snakes were hissing at the light. It was unusual – they normally took it in and even slithered in appreciation. Yes, there was something unusual. The whole ceremony seemed to be more serious, the atmosphere more absorbing and macabre.

Ichigo could feel sleep gaining a secure hold. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing lulled and serene. He wasn't ashamed that he was always the first one to sleep. Sleep was something precious. A precious break from the loud cheering and work and nothingness. Orihime was still awake. Gin would rest soon. And Grimmjow? Ichigo couldn't quite see the juggler from the small flicker, but he was sure that he would sleep as well. At least he wasn't as disturbed as the majority of performers, he believed.

Morning arrived. The black of the night before had turned into a tropical, soft glow of orange and white. The sun had begun its regular, warm arc across the sky. The rather small window gave the performers a small look at the outside. The forest behind was consumed by trees. Some were rotted, others fallen, and just a few well and alive. It was silent, which was quite rare. There would normally be the content chirping of the birds. Ichigo liked the birds. They sang such pretty and simple songs, the high pitched warble like a mother's embrace to his ears. He appreciated them even more when he saw the one with the most beautiful voice. To say quite simply, it was plain. It lacked the powerful red crest of exotic, the blue chest of the proud, the noble neck of the elite. It was brown, with a thin beak and homely feathers. But the noise was so beautiful, with the notes going up and down in easy patterns. There was something magnificent about it. On days, Ichigo would go out and put a small amount of food in hopes of getting to hear the sound again. Yet the winter was coming and the birds were leaving. Ichigo didn't like winters, he decided. The cold was bothersome and there were always more people coming when the breath of cold reached Earth. More people that jeered at him, more people that laughed. Laughter was something that Ichigo didn't like either. He had never laughed a true laugh himself, and he simply couldn't get the connection between joy and laughter. The laughs that constantly filled his ears were mean and rough, sometimes forced. It was an ugly sound.

The ringleader opened the door, with no heed of the sleeping faces and limp bodies.

"Wake up! It's a new day, my lovely performers. There's some breakfast on the table. There's much work to be done, much work indeed."

And the rest forced themselves up. The twins were silent, their hands still tainted with the red wax. Now hardened, it was cracked from any slight movement of the hands. But the twins reached their hands up to inspect them with their jaded, strange eyes, and some sort of pleasure coursed through them. Both mouths curled up in a grin as they started to change into their rather humiliating clothes. The clothes were donated from the avid fans, stitched together for everyday use. They were colorful, not at all nice, but the twins hadn't complained.

Orihime was awake. She was talking about something or the other, but the activities of the night before did not touch her tongue. The pink curtain covered it well. The ringleader hadn't suspected anything.

And Rukia was back. She had changed back to her sleeping clothes, but everyone knew of what happened. Without any doubt, she had been taken to some cheap hotel of a strange man and used again and again. Perhaps there were two men, maybe even three. Yet she was energetic as usual, the permanent smile painting her tired face.

The rest got up without much commotion, changing into their regular clothes and exiting the room to the even smaller kitchen. The ringleader was already seating, sipping his coffee in a dignified manner. Small bowls filled with various foods littered the rest of the table, just enough for the performers. They settled themselves down, some sitting on the floor while others opted to lean against the wall. Orihime continued talking about the cats she wanted, the dreams she never got to fulfill. The ringleader may have been the only one paying attention, interrupting the orange-headed girl with brief questions. And soon breakfast was finished, the dishes gathered and quickly cleaned with careless hands. The rest of the week was the same opus, with the same nights and darkness. But three days later, Ichigo would again come into contact with the blue-haired juggler.


End file.
